


The Reddest Rose

by faroregreens



Category: yuri on ice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faroregreens/pseuds/faroregreens
Summary: Yuuri meets a most charming and peculiar customer at the flower shop he works at.





	The Reddest Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing/posting fanfic. I'm sorry for plaguing your eyes.

“I’ll get to work on the outside,” Phichit tells me. “You can stay inside.”  
I smile at him, grateful. “Thanks. I promise I’ll do the outside next time.” I’m busy tying my apron around my waist when Phichit looks over at me from across the room. I pause, meeting his eyes. I squint at him, then we both laugh.  
“What?” I demand, raising an eyebrow.  
“Look, I don’t mind doing the outside, but why don’t you like doing it?”  
I shrug, rolling my sleeves up. “I mean, I don’t know. There’s really no reason. I just-”  
“Wait. I know what it is. You don’t like greeting customers as they walk in,” Phichit supplies, smiling mischievously at me over a pot of tulips. I scowl, crossing my arms.  
“You know that’s not true,” I say lamely. Then I mutter, “You’re better at talking to people anyway.”  
Phichit gives me a look, then turns to go outside, a half-grin on his face. I hear the tinkling of the bell, then the door shuts and I’m alone.  
Most days it’s just Phichit and I here. Sometimes the owner’s son, Yuri - or Yurio as we sometimes call him - comes in to help out, but everyone knows he hates it. He’s a moody, angsty teenager who looks about as comfortable in a pretty little flower shop as a bodybuilder would look standing in a high-end fashion store. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, even though we don’t exactly get along very well. The fact that we share a name and I’m older than him by nearly a decade doesn’t exactly earn me any points as far as he’s concerned. I do my best to ignore him but sometimes we’re forced to work in close proximity. Luckily, school is starting again for him in a few weeks so I won’t have to worry about seeing him as much anymore. And even when he does give me a hard time, Phichit is always there to give him a nice verbal slapping.  
It’s wonderfully sunny today, which is a nice change from the rain we’ve been getting lately. I remember that Phichit’s just gone out to water the flowers outside, and laugh to myself It’s been raining so much that it’d be a waste to water them now.  
I make my way to the front of the store and step outside, shielding my eyes with my hand as I look around. Phichit is a few feet to my left, standing with his arms crossed and a displeased expression on his face.  
“Phichit,” I say as I approach. I turn to look where he’s looking. “I don’t think you’ll need to-”  
“Water the flowers?” Phichit finishes for me. I grin at him.  
“Yeah.”  
“Well I realize that now,” Phichit mumbles. I let out a laugh, then we both look up at a commotion from across the street.  
It’s the store’s owner, Yakov, practically dragging Yurio down the sidewalk towards the shop. Phichit and I are silent, watching as they make their way over.  
After a moment of exaggerated bickering, I say to Phichit in a low voice, “I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’ll bet anything he’s complaining about having to work.”  
Phichit snorts, amused. “Complaining about being here, working with you, more like it.” I nod. He adds, “You know, he’s not a bad kid. He just…”  
“Has a bad attitude? Hates practically everybody?” I supply, grinning again. Phichit rolls his eyes at me and walks forward to meet the two as they reach the storefront.  
“Hello Mr. Feltsman,” Phichit says lightly with a jaunty wave. Yakov’s annoyed expression diminishes as his gaze settles on Phichit.  
“Phichit,” Yavok greets him, his hand still clamped tightly around Yurio’s shoulder. He notices me standing there and adds, “Yuuri. You’re here, bright and early. Something my son here can’t comprehend.” His voice is low and venomous. I laugh nervously  
Yuro grumbles angrily.  
“Hi, Yurio,” I try.  
Yurio’s eyes shoot daggers at me. I clamp my mouth shut and look away.  
“Somehow I managed to drag Yuri out of bed, so he’ll be working with you too today,” Yavok says, giving Yurio a hard stare. The threat is implied. Phichit nods.  
“No problem Mr. Feltsman,” he says agreeably, giving Yurio a smile, which he doesn’t return. Phichit is unfazed. “I’ll have him help me outside.”  
Yavok nods, then pauses, turning to me with narrowed eyes. “Has Yuri been giving you a hard time again?”  
“No,” I say a little too fast, and it’s clear that I’m lying by the sudden blush that rises in my cheeks. Phichit laughs loudly to diffuse the tension, then takes Yurio strongly by the shoulder, beginning to steer him inside the shop.  
“Everything will be fine,” Phichit says, mostly sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.  
“You too, Phichit. And Yuuri, you have my permission to yell at little Yurachka if he starts being a little prick.”  
From inside the store Yurio’s outraged voice shouts, “I’m not little!”

~

Thankfully Phichit is quick with getting Yurio to work outside, so our tense small talk is minimal.  
It’s unusually slow, considering how good the weather is outside. I had thought the sun would draw more people in. Or maybe it’s not busy yet because it’s still so early. After all, who’s going to go shopping for flowers at eight o’clock in the morning?  
I’ve helped two customers in the past half hour, one of which had been a young man who’d given me a very detailed backstory about him and his girlfriend and how he was going to propose to her and he needed the perfect flowers to present her with when he did. I swear I had overheard him badgering Phichit when he left, asking about his opinion on the flowers.  
I’m sitting behind the register when I notice one of the bouquets on the center display is sitting askew from the man from earlier. I’m almost positive he’d picked up every bouquet in the store as we’d made our way around.  
I walk over to it, bending down, carefully repositioning it. I hear the bell ring, which means someone has entered the store, and I assume it’s either Phichit coming in to complain about Yuri or Yuri coming in to complain about Phichit.  
Suddenly, through the petals of the flowers, I see a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring back at me.  
I’m startled so I gasp a little. The eyes change, crinkling at the corners, and I know whoever it is is smiling. I straighten up slowly, and the other person copies me. When they’re in full view, I’m horribly embarrassed from how fast I feel my face heating up.  
There’s a tall, attractive young man standing before me. His smile is kind but somehow he intimidates me. He has eyes so blue they look fake.  
Are they real?  
No, they must be contacts.  
But they’re so pretty.  
I realize with a start that I’ve been silent and staring at him for too long so I blink rapidly, looking away, but then I have to look back because he’s still looking at me. And then I’m tempted to turn around and see if there’s someone behind me, because this man can’t just be looking at me, he’s too attractive, he’s too important-looking to be wasting time looking at someone as clumsy and insignificant as me.  
But no, he’s definitely looking at me.  
“Tell me,” the man says with a slight jerk of his chin, “What does the red symbolize?”  
I’m so startled and confused that for a moment all I can do is just stand there and stare at him. The flowers are still clutched in my sweaty hands.  
“What?” I say in a breathy voice.  
He smiles patiently and repeats, “The red.” He gestures to the bouquet in my hand.  
A dozen red roses.  
“Oh,” I breath out. I swallow and begin to explain, almost on autopilot; customers ask this question all the time.  
“Well, the red traditionally symbolizes love, or romance. It’s the perfect way to say…” I trail off. Suddenly the blush is back in my cheeks.  
“The perfect way to say…?” he prompts  
“The perfect way to say, I love you. They’re the perfect gift for…” I trail off again.  
“A lover, perhaps?” he chimes in. Those blue eyes have captured mine yet again, and I find it increasingly difficult to look away.  
“Yes. A lover,” I repeat.  
The man laughs, seemingly breaking character, and for some reason I feel the tension in my chest unraveling. Somehow the simple sound has put me at ease. He extends his hand and I take it. His grip is firm and confident.  
“I’m Victor,” he says with a subtle flourish, as if purposely exaggerating his own grandiosity to get me to laugh, and it works.  
“Hello,” I say sheepishly. Suddenly I feel that I’m smiling and I feel absolutely ridiculous so I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to make it stop.  
His arms drop, the warm smile returning. “You must be Yuuri.”  
I cough a little, my eyes widening.  
“What? How do you know my name?”  
Victor extends his hand, towards my chest.  
“Nametag,” he explains simply. I swear I can hear every angel in heaven slow clapping.  
I flush and laugh nervously, too embarrassed to say anything. I’m still confused as to why he’s approached me. And why he’s still standing here. Yes, I’m the employee, and yes, it’s my job to answer customer’s questions. But now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure that everyone knows what a red rose is supposed to symbolize, and it’s got me thinking that asking about it was Victor’s excuse to talk to talk to me.  
“So...do you...have a girlfriend?” I say. “Or...a wife?”  
Something in Victor’s eyes shift and I sense his surprise. He frowns, tilting his head and says, “Of course not.”  
“Oh...I assumed you wanted the roses for a special someone?” I tell him, cocking an eyebrow. Victor laughs, amused. He leans forward, and suddenly he’s so close to me that I fear Phichit or Yurio could look in any moment and think we’re doing something that we’re actually not.  
“Actually,” he says suggestively, “I just wanted an excuse to be able to talk to you.” A sly grin plays on his lips.  
I nearly choke on my own spit. I’m so clumsy and flustered at this point, I don’t know how I’m even still holding up a civil conversation.  
He wants to talk?  
To me?  
I push my my hair from my eyes, a nervous movement. “Oh, well...you’re talking to me now,” I say sheepishly.  
Victor smiles, letting out a real, genuine laugh. I laugh with him.  
I finally lower the flowers, uncovering the lower half of my face, and ask, “So I’m assuming you already knew that? About the red roses?”  
Victor winks, a subtle, sneaky movement, but one that has me swooning nonetheless.  
“Why, of course. Everyone knows that. Maybe I was just testing your knowledge,” he teases.  
“Well if you’re so smart,” I challenge, gaining confidence, “Then let’s test your knowledge, hmm?”  
Victor straightens up, scoffing. “I bet I know more than you do.”  
“Really?” I say. “Shall I remind you that I’m the one who works here?”  
“Fair enough,” Victor offers. “But the challenge still stands.”  
I turn, walking towards the stand on the far wall. Before us are bouquets of every color rose you can imagine. I take a few steps forward and select a miniature bouquet of orange roses. I turn to Victor, holding them out to him.  
“What about these?” He takes them from me, making a show of inspecting them, which makes me laugh.  
“No laughing,” he says sharply, but his face softens and I know it’s a joke. “I’m trying to concentrate.”  
A minute passes us in silence, with me watching Victor’s face as he studies the flowers. And I can’t help but thinking that he looks lovely holding them.  
Although, orange isn’t really his color.  
“I have my answer,” he announces. “Orange is meant to symbolize excitement, liveliness…” His eyes flicker up to meet mine, and I feel the blush crawl down my neck as he continues, “...romance...desire..” Once he’s gotten me completely beet red he hands the flowers back and asks, “How did I do?” as if he’s pretending he doesn’t know how weak he’s making me.  
I blink, adjusting my glasses on the bridge of my nose.  
“You did surprisingly well,” I get out.  
Victor beams at me, and it’s an expression I swear I could stare at all day long.  
“Have I proved you wrong yet? Is this test over?”  
“No.” I answer, stabbing a finger in the air. “It’s still on. Look at all these roses. I don’t think I can let you leave until you correctly explain the meaning behind each color.”  
Victor follows me as I approach a pink bouquet, and he says under his breath, “Then I guess I’ll have to keep being wrong.”  
Judging by the look on his face when I turn around, I swear he meant for me to hear it.


End file.
